John Norman - Beasts of Gor

“I bought the other one there, too,” said Ininak, indicating Barbara, who was serving across the room.

“Another splendid purchase,” said Rain. “She is quite attractive.”

Barbara looked ever her shoulder. Rain had not spoken softly. She knew herself the object of our conversation. She straightened herself. She was proud that she was beautiful, and of interest to strong men.

“I had them both for the pelt of a snow lart and the pelts of four leems,” said Imnak, rather pleased with himself.

Barbara looked .angry.

“To secure such a brace of beauties for such a price is indeed marvelous,” said Rain.

“The market was slow,” admitted Imnak.

“But you are, too, a skillful bargainer,” pointed out Ram.

Imnak shrugged modestly. “They did cost me five pelts,” he said.

“Five pelts is nothing for such beauties,” insisted Rain.

“Perhaps you are right,” said Imnak. “At any rate they are now both in my bondage strings.”

Barbara came to us and knelt before us. She looked at Ram. She carried a bowl of dried berries. Their eyes met over the bowl as she lifted it to him. He, without taking his eyes from her, thrust his hand into the bowl and scooped out a large handful of berries. She then rose lightly, sinuously, before him, and, turning her back, left. Ram watched her. She walked slowly, gracefully, away. She was intensely conscious of his eyes upon her. When she dared, she turned once and looked at him, then put her head down, smiling.

“They are good at pulling sleds,” said Ininak.

“They have other utilities, too,” I said.

“You may use either, of course,” said Imnak, putting Thimble and Thistle, both, at Ram’s disposal.

“Thank you,” said Ram. “But neither of them commanded me at the wall.”

He looked at Arlene, who knelt before us, a bit to the left. She shrank back.

“Meat,” he said to her.

“I will fetch some,” she said, starting to rise.

“Do not be a little fool,” I said. “He means you.”

“Oh,” she said, frightened.

“Are you any good?” asked Ram.

“I do not know,” she whispered. “Master will tell me.”

Ram rose to his feet and walked over to the wall of the feasting house. There he threw off the lart-skin shirt he wore.

“With your permission, Imnak,” said Ram, “I will try the others later.”

“Use them whenever you wish,” said Imnak. “Their use is yours.”

Ram stood, waiting by the wall.

Arlene looked at me, frightened.

“Please him,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said. She made as though to rise.

“No,” I said. “Crawl to him on your hands and knees.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“And please him well,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I turned my attention to the clearing in the feasting house. There there was miming going on. The hunters and the women clapped their hands and cried out with pleasure at the skill of the various mimera. Naartok was being a whale. This was the occasion of additional jests from the audience.

“Tarl, who hunts with me,” said Imnak, seriously, “I am afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?” I asked.

“The animal we saw,” said Imnak, “was surely an ice beast.”

“So?” I said.

“I fear Karjuk is dead,” he said.

“Why do you say this?” I asked.

“Karjuk is the guard,” he said. “He stands between the People and the ice beasts.”

“I see,” I said.

White-pelted Kurii are called ice beasts by the red hunters. These animals usually hunt from ice floes in the summer, generally far out at sea. Unlike most Kurii, they have an affinity for water, and are fond of it. In the winter, when the sea freezes, they occasionally rove inland. There are different races of Kur. Not much was known of the mysterious Karjuk, even among the red hunters, save that he was one of them. He was a strange man, who lived alone. He had no woman. He had no friends. He lived alone on the ice. He roved in the darkness, silent, with his lance. He stood between the People and the ice beasts. The Kur that I had seen outside the village, which had escaped with the slain snow sleen, had been white-pelted. I was confident, however, that it had been a ship Kur, and not a common ice beast. On the other hand, I was confident, too, that it must have come from the northern sea or the northern ice. Thus, presumably, it would have penetrated and passed through the territory in which Karjuk maintained his lonely outpost. That it had appeared this near the village suggested that it had either slipped by Karjuk or that it had found him, of all those Kurii which may have hunted him, and killed him.

“Perhaps the beast slipped past Karjuk,” I suggested.

“I do not think an ice beast could slip past Karjuk,” said Imnak. “I think Karjuk is dead.”

A man was now being a sea sleen, swimming, before the group. He was quite skillful.

“I am sorry,” I said.

Imnak and I sat together for a long time, not speaking.

Akko and Kadluk were then before the group. Akko was an iceberg, floating, drifting about, and Kadluk, pressing near and withdrawing, was the west wind. Akko, the iceberg, responded to the wind, heavily, sluggishly, turning slowly in the water.

Both were skillful.

There was much laughter and pleasure, and delight, taken in their performance.

Suddenly, as they finished their performance, there was a breath of chill air that coursed through the feasting house. All heads turned toward the door. But no one spoke. A man stood there, a red hunter, dark-visaged and lean, thin and silent. At his back there was a horn bow and a quiver of arrows; in his hand there was a lance and, held by cords, a heavy sack. He turned about and swung shut the door, and pulled down the hide across it. There was snow on his parka, for, apparently, snow had begun to fall outside during the feast. When he had closed the feasting house, he turned again to look upon the feasters.

Imnak’s hand was hard upon my arm.

The man then put his weapons near the rear wall of the feasting hcuse and walked, carrying the sack he had brought with him, to the clearing on the dirt floor. There, not speaking, he shook loose from the sack, causing it to fall to the dirt, the head of a large, white-pelted Kur, an ice beast. In its ears were golden rings.

I looked at Imnak.

“It is Karjuk,” he said.

“It is fortunate for me, perhaps,” said Ram, to Karjuk, in Imnak’s hut, “that you were trailing the ice beast and managed to kill it.” He looked at the severed head in the corner of the hut. “I would hate to meet it again.”

Karjuk nodded, but did not speak.

He had cut the rings from the ears of the beast, and had given them, with Imnak’s permission, to Poalu, who now wore them on her left wrist, as bracelets.

Before she had put them on her wrist I had held them, looking at them closely, and weighing them in my hand.

“Are you sure,” I asked Ram, “that this is the head of the beast who attacked you?”

“Could there be more than one such beast,” he asked, “with rings in its ears?”

“It does not seem likely,” I admitted. I had examined the head with great care, the ears and the mouth in particular.

“I had followed the beast for days,” said Karjuk. “I trailed it to where I encountered sled tracks, and blood in the snow, and the trampling of the snow by many feet.”

“That would be where it had attacked my sleen and sled,” said Ram, “and where the men from the village came to rescue me.”

“I then trailed the beast further, some pasangs across the snow. It had been wounded twice, and was found feeding on the carcass of a snow sleen with harness marks in its fur.”